Three
by RoseblossomWarrior
Summary: AU. Morgan's parents have died. Lucina has failed, fallen, and crumbled into a mockery of her former self. Morgan rushes to a third timeline, desperate to keep his parents from dying, but he is alone, and Lucina has fallen victim to the bidding of Grima. [Alt. timeline. Probably OOC. Sporadic updates. Morgan-centric. Deals with heavy themes of death.]
1. Chapter 1

i.

He runs through what feels like liquid tar; time around him has almost stilled. He grunts, the sound coming out like an echo, and the hilt of his father's sword at his side slowly, but not gently, bumps back against his waist. All at once he sees the light ahead of him, where the Risen have disappeared through, and he reaches out, his coat gliding through the timestream.

His fingers brush the regular flow of time, and an invisible force jerks him into the third world.

The wind whips against his ears and coat, through his hair and the slits in his mask as he plummets toward the ground. He's not like Lucina was-his legs aren't as durable-so he puts a hand on the tome tucked in his belt and points his other hand downward.

"_Elwind_!"

Twin blades of greenish air expel toward the ground, slowing his descent, and he lands. The forest floor is soft, but the impact still jars him; he can feel his teeth rattle, and he's thankful he didn't bite off his own tongue by accident.

Like in the second world, part of the forest has lit ablaze, an unfortunate side effect of the spell's immense power. He stands to his full height and draws his sword, turning his head this way and that to look and listen.

The roar of the flames hides the sound of footsteps, and the voice that he hears nearly brings him to tears.

"Where did you get that sword?"

He spins and finds his father standing behind him. The man is slightly younger than the one he knows; though defined, Chrom's features aren't as sharp as they will be. The light scars on the prince's body are far fewer than they will be. Still, Chrom's stern but confused expression, the intensity of his blue eyes, is the same as ever.

More than anything, he wants to fall into his father's arms and relieve the heavy burden on his own shoulders. He wants to cry into his father's cape, like he can just barely remember doing as a child, and let everything be dealt with by his parents. He wants to feel warmth from his father's skin, not the cold.

But the moment passes when, out of the haze of flames, a slim figure appears behind Chrom. Light glints off the woman's tiara and red fire burns in her eyes. The first world's Falchion reflects the forest's inferno on its silver and gold blade as it is lifted into a ready stance.

"_Rexcalibur_!"

He aims the wind spell at his sister. Chrom's eyes widen at the coming onslaught and rolls out of the way just in time. Lucina tries to do the same, but by the time it reaches her, the magic has spread far; it catches her shoulder and sends her spinning. By the time she's retained her balance, he's sped at her, driving the second Falchion toward her. She blocks the attack with her own blade at the last moment and pushes him backward, though he maintains his footing and takes a ready stance.

"Defeat the Risen!" he calls back to Chrom, not daring to look over his shoulder. "Get out of here!"

If his father answers, he doesn't hear him, because now Lucina is speaking.

"Little brother," she coos, but her voice is rougher. It seems to match her distorted appearance perfectly-her skin has become a pale porcelain, both unsettling and beautiful. Magic tattoos have blossomed on her face, matching the Mark of Grima that has appeared in her right eye. Depending on the angle of light, her eyes appear deep purple, or deep red, or a flashing crimson that mimics the Risen.

"Little brother Morgan," she says again, but this time she lashes out with Falchion, and he barely manages to block with the second of the now-triplet blades. The weapon is unbreakable, but it vibrates in his grip from her force. She whirls and attacks, attacks, almost too fast for him even though each move is just like the ones she's used with him in sparring.

"_Lucina_!" he says, almost screeching. He has to refrain from saying sister-if he is to win this war, he knows linking himself to her in such a way might ruin his chances for gaining his father's support if he is heard.

Lucina is now nothing more than an enemy, can be nothing but an enemy, and he is not the enemy. But still, he can't help but try to bring her back.

"Lucina!" he pleads. Since her attacks have begun, he has not made a countermove. "Please, Lucina, please stop this!"

The once-princess of Ylisse slows, but only hardly. "How futile," she comments. "When your mother and father are dead, tiny one."

Morgan has only heard those words spoken once by his sister, in an admission that had left her almost sobbing. To hear the words spoken in such a cold, cruel way convinces him of his suspicions, though he has no way of pulling her from Grima's controlling grip. But he cannot stop trying.

"Please, Lucina!" He strikes at her and she meets his blade with her own, and he pushes hard on her to remain in a deadlock. His arms tremble as he looks into her eyes with his own through the mask. "Please, don't let Grima control you like this! _You're strong enough to fight this_!"

Lucina scowls, not in irritation, but condescendence. "You have no power to stop us."

Morgan almost reels back in shock. "'Us'?!"

She laughs, far from her joyous, if rare, melody. Her voice is rough and mocking. "Worry not for now. My master has not entered this world yet. You would already be dead. But this way, at least," she says, mustering her strength and pushing him away from her, "_I have my chance to slaughter you!_"

Morgan is immediately on the defensive, but he can't deflect her forward jab in enough time-the edge of the original Falchion slides almost imperceptibly across the side of his neck, where his mother's spell-protected coat doesn't reach.

Lucina pulls back at once, but he knows that it isn't any act of mercy that she didn't hack his head off then and there. She darts back in, jabbing and slicing, and he's forced to dodge and block. He doesn't consider himself half the swordsman that his sister is, and in the second world he never came close to defeating their father in a swordsmen's spar. As soon as possible he needs to gain his distance to be the most effective, but there's no way Lucina would let him get away easily.

"Stop!"

The tip of the first Falchion knocks into the side of his mask, sending the object tumbling to the ground just as Chrom steps in and fights back Lucina, ignorant of her heritage in another world, another time. At once Morgan is aware that they are surrounded by people-maybe not close enough to see his face-but he raises the cowl of his robe to hide his appearance before sending a quick wind spell to send his distracted sister flying.

Lucina rolls to the side and Chrom slices after her, just narrowly missing her arm. Morgan sends another, more powerful elwind to stall her; she takes the brunt of the magic attack but still meets Chrom's sword with her own. Chrom knows enough not to fight toe-to-toe with her, leaving Morgan as wide a target area as he can manage. Lucina catches on quickly and darts toward the Ylissean prince, but from another angle a burst of a thunder spell speeds at Lucina and hits her. Chrom takes the advantage and dives forward, but Lucina hits the flat of his blade with her own; his attack puts a gouge in her side. Though it's small, her clothes around the wound darken immediately and she hisses.

Chrom barely has time to pull back away from her retaliatory strike. Lucina doesn't rush after him, though. Instead, she rises to her full height; the flames around them sets her blue hair and clothes with a brilliant orange hue and highlights the paleness of her skin. The fire almost seems to be coming from Falchion itself.

Lucina stares at Chrom, then turns her gaze to the white-haired, tome-wielding woman emerging from the trees. Lucina watches her other-world mother for a long moment and a smile slides onto her tattooed face. Robin's eyes grow wide and her left hand instinctively goes to grab her right one.

Lucina chuckles and sheathes her sword. She turns to look at her brother. She says nothing, but her expression and her eyes say all he needs to know for the moment.

"I shall spare you for tonight," she concedes, but nothing about her tone admits defeat. She sounds like a bored but cruel puppet-master, lazily deciding to save her playthings for another day rather than cutting their strings.

She turns and leaves, seeming to disappear into the flames, and for all that has happened Morgan finds himself hoping that all she's doing is going to check the army supplies or find someone to spar with.

Chrom and Robin remain fixated on Lucina's departure. Morgan shakes his head and turns back toward where his mask had dropped. He picks up the blue, butterfly-shaped headpiece. Slightly sideways down the middle is a darker line of blue marking where the mask had once been broken, but since then mended with magic. Morgan places the mask on his face but doesn't lower his cowl.

He hears footsteps and a hand grabs his shoulder. His mother's grip is hard, but he doesn't blame her for it.

"Who are you?!" she demands, trying to turn him around. His eyes water immediately at the sound of her voice, and he has to swallow past a sudden lump in his throat. He doesn't dare turn around to face her.

"...You may call me Mark," he concedes.

"Oh, really?" she says. "The famous tactician of old?"

Of course she would know the name. That was why he had chosen it. Still, the fact that she knows such a fact so early on nags at his mind.

"Whether or not it is my real name does not matter," Morgan replied.

Robin is silent, and after a moment she pulls back her hand. "Why do you have my coat? My mother made this."

_She remembers_, he realizes. Grima hasn't yet come to this world. Of course. Perhaps Grima didn't have the sort of power to transport himself-and his avatar-alongside Lucina. _But who knows when he'll come?_

"Answer me."

Morgan keeps silent.

He hears more footsteps, and then his father is speaking.

"Why are there three Falchions?" Chrom's voice is confused, but not harsh like earlier. He sounds...kind, almost. Like he's afraid of scaring away Morgan, like a small animal.

Morgan realizes that he has yet to sheathe Falchion. He does so, slowly, gathering his thoughts. Tactician though he may be, it's hard to not think of how much he wants to embrace his parents.

Finally, he turns to them. It was a bad idea, because now he wants to cry at the lack of recognition in their eyes.

"Explaining in the open is not the best course of action," he explains. "But if you must know anything right now, know this: That woman...Lucina...cannot be trusted. She will kill you if she has the chance. But," he added, turning more toward his mother, and the woman's eyes filled with dread. "She is only a taste of what is to come."

* * *

><p><em>Hello, Rose here. Dunno why I'm uploading this. I have no plans yet to continue this. I literally wrote this today after going a long stretch without writing due to time constraints. In any case, the ideas in this are really interesting (if I could do them right), so I'll refrain from marking this complete in case I ever want to come back to this<em>

_I'm going to point out that "You may call me Mark" isn't my original idea. I first saw it in a fanart, but I can't remember how to get to it-if I did, I'd link to it. It was a very pretty picture on tumblr, though._

_Thanks for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2

ii.

Morgan could feel his sister's warmth through his coat as she pressed her back against his. Her presence gave him strength, and he lifted his killing edge a little higher.

"Be careful, little brother," Lucina said as the Risen crowded in around them. "You're not a swordsman."

Her words weren't unkind, but they stung him nonetheless. Before he could protest, a Risen axman lunged forward with its lumbering bulk; Morgan flashed out his sword and swiped at the clumsy creature's arm. Its wrist was severed, and its hand disintegrated to ash. Before the ax fell to the ground, Morgan spun, using his momentum to slice through the Risen's neck. Its head tumbled off, and its body lost stability, sinking to the ground.

A glint of metal caught his eye, but before the Risen pike-man could stab at his stomach, Lucina darted in and sliced the spear in two before doing the same to the enemy. The princess immediately slid back into a ready stance, keeping her eyes on the undead foes.

"You're not meant to be in the thick of things all the time," Lucina called back to Morgan. "You can manage it - but you're one of the most powerful mages I've ever seen! Use that to your advantage!"

The praise lit a bright smile on Morgan's face. "Aw! Thanks, sister!"

Lucina spun and blocked a strike aimed for Morgan's head. She kicked at the Risen, sending the creature sprawling backwards.

"Don't get distracted!" she snapped, only sounding so harsh, Morgan knew, because she cared.

"Sorry, sister," Morgan said before sending a rexcalibur spell into the fray, scattering and instantly felling a handful of their foes. "But only if you promise to make me a better swordsman!"

Lucina laughed, bright and clear. "All right, it's a promise. And here's your first lesson: Use your magic to send these brutes straight through your sword!"

"All right, teacher!" Morgan chirped, and as a sword-wielding Risen came charging at him, he sent a well-aimed wind spell at the mindless creature. Its arms were pushed apart, and it lost its grip on its sword. As inertia brought the Risen toward him, Morgan held his killing edge in a two-handed grip, then stabbed forward to hit straight through its stomach.

He didn't need to pull the sword out; the Risen disintegrated.

Morgan suddenly felt slim fingers roughly rubbing his head and hair. "Good job, journeyman!" Lucina said, laughing, and Morgan's chest felt bright and warm.

Even whilst surrounded by enemies, he was happy and his sister was happy, so long as they were by each other's sides.

()()()

The walk to Ylisstol is longer than Morgan would have liked. His hands are bound, as that was the only way Frederick would allow him to accompany them to the capital; the man holds onto his spell book, and Chrom has the second-world Falchion, which is now wrapped in cloth, strapped to his back. The only possessions worth to Morgan that he still has are his cloak and his mask, and even then only because Chrom decided to return the favor for saving his life.

Frederick walks directly behind Morgan. He's holding his silver lance pointed between the young man's shoulder blades. At such a close distance to the powerfully-made weapon, the wards on the coat have no effect. Unless Aunt - unless _Lissa_ stepped in, Morgan could surely die at even a jab if left untreated, especially if Frederick thinks he can save the Halidom by killing a mere boy.

They've been joined by Virion - at this point in time, a newcomer to not just the Shepherds, but Ylisse - and Sully, accompanied by her stallion. Upon reaching Ylisstol the two make for the barracks as per Chrom's orders, taking Frederick's mare with them.

Ylisstol is much the same as it was in the second world before the advent of Grima. No one in the street is panicking. There are smiling faces and happy looks between couples and families. People are cheering in the distance as a procession heads back to the castle.

"So that is Exalt Emmeryn?" Robin says as they approach. "Your sister?"

Morgan heard his mother tell him, in the second world, about her surprise to learn about Chrom and Lissa's heritage. Here, along the way to Ylisstol, the topic came up much sooner.

"The best sister anyone could ever have," Lissa says. Along the way she kept staring at Morgan, and yet again she turns to him. "Mark, have you ever been to Ylisstol?"

She keeps asking him questions too - and as much as Morgan loves his aunt, his patience is starting to wear thin. "This is my birthplace," he says as evenly as he can, speaking for one of the first times on their journey. He has to consciously keep himself from saying _I was born here_, because that's a lie - he _will _be born here - and for some reason he can't lie about this.

"I suppose we won't find a simple 'Mark' in the birth records," Frederick grumbles.

The crowd that had greeted Emmeryn is long gone by the time they reach the castle gates. Morgan gazes up at the large, tall walls surrounding the fortress. They're grand; somehow they inspire greatness and trust rather than fear, which the gates of Walhart's castle in Valm do.

The guards nod to Frederick and bow to their prince and princess. Chrom motions for a few of the men to come over.

"Take this man to north end sitting room," he instructs. "Do not let him out of your sight, nor near anything that could be used as a weapon. Make sure he is fed, watered, and comfortable, however."

The guards both let out an "Understood" and grab Morgan by the arms. He complies easily with their leading him; but before he goes, he can't help but glance back toward his mother. The woman's dark eyes are narrowed in suspicion, but also intrigue. He's a puzzle now, instead of a happy-go-lucky open book, despite his memory loss. Not that this Robin has ever known him in such a way.

Being inside the bright, colorful halls of the castle instantly makes Morgan feel out of place. He doesn't remember how long it's been since he's been inside. He thought he would be happy to return home - albeit in a roundabout manner - but he doesn't feel that way at all and doesn't know exactly why. He doesn't want to think about it.

The guards lead him through several underground corridors before coming back up into a hallway lit by a large window. They open a door; inside is a cozy room, filled with several plush chairs arranged around a low table. An ornate, oak bureau of sorts sits against the far wall and houses a tea set imported from Valm. The window reaches almost completely up and down the length of the wall. Morgan takes a step forward, and his filthy boots sink a little into the rug.

When he sits down, one of the guards retreats from the room, closing the door behind him. The remaining one keeps a hand on his steel lance and stands midway between the door and the window, as if expecting Morgan to bolt in either direction like a spooked pegasus.

Morgan considers lowering his hood, but refrains. He notices the guard tug at his collar.

"Hot, isn't it?" he says.

The guard gives a start. He fidgets, as if trying to remember whether he was told to keep prisoners quiet. "...Yes."

Just a bit of his old curiosity rises inside Morgan. He looks straight at the guard through his mask. "How long have you been in the service of my - Exalt?" he asks, nearly slipping. He almost said _father_, but in this world Chrom is neither his father nor the ruler of the Halidom.

"Almost one year." The guard stands up straighter. He looks back at Morgan, but keeps awkwardly quiet.

Morgan hates being looked at in such a way. He opens his mouth to speak up, to say something cheerful, but nothing comes out.

The other guard comes back at this point, bringing a plate of bread, a small portion of meat, and water. He takes care putting it in front of Morgan, as if watching for an aggressive move of some sort, but he does nothing of the kind.

"Thank you," Morgan says before eagerly digging in, filling his empty stomach. It's a bit plain, but better than anything he's tasted in a long while.

He doesn't try to speak to the guards again. The heat of the room, combined with the warmth of his coat and his comfortably-full belly, makes him drowsy. He does his best not to sleep, lest somehow someone takes off his mask or does something to harm him, but within a few minutes he is dozing in the chair, spent.

He's half-aware of what's going on around him and also half-aware of his own dreams. At first the catnap is peaceful, but all at once images come to his mind. Falchion is flashing in great, wide, frenzied arcs. Someone is screaming. Several people are screaming. He is screaming.

He wakes fully with a start, digging his fingers into the armrests of the chair and tensing.

"Are you all right?"

Morgan doesn't recognize the voice, but he does recognize the inclusion of warmth, kindness, and concern. The only nicer melody of speaking he's heard is from his own mother.

He turns to the door and sees that a woman has joined him and the guards. She is tall, stunning - her clothes, which cover all but her head and hands, are a sort of green that can only be described as _calming _or _healing_. Her hair is blonde, like Lissa's, but styled into elegant curls that fall around her shoulders. Her face is soft, her eyes are gentle, and the Mark of the Exalt, Naga's symbol, rests on her forehead.

Morgan's mouth drops open and he almost calls her _aunt_. "Your Exaltedness," he manages to stutter out. He realizes himself belatedly and stands to bow.

Many things dash through his mind at once. The woman before him has died twice. Not here, not yet, not _really, _but he can't help but think about the stories Lucina told him about the night of the assassination, and the day the Exalt plunged toward the Plegian ground.

She smiles. "And you are Mark, I presume?" She motions for him to sit back down and takes a seat herself, across from him. Her posture is straight and regal. She almost seems to glow as the sunlight streaming in through the window falls on her. "After the tactician of old?"

Morgan sits down and simply nods, unsure of how to answer. Emmeryn watches him for a moment, but there is no suspicion in her eyes, or distrust.

She dips her head, only slightly. "You have my thanks for protecting my brother."

"It - it was nothing." For some reason he can't get the imagined picture of her lifeless body out of his mind.

"We will have you brought to another room shortly for questioning. Unless you are tired?" Emmeryn glances toward the window. The summer light is still strong, but the sun is sinking lower and lower. "You are more than welcome to rest for the night beforehand. I apologize in advance; we must keep guards watching you at all times, especially if you still wish to keep your identity from us."

"The guards are fine," Morgan says at once, but turns a thought over in his mind. "...I'm afraid what I have to say should be heard as soon as possible." He's still exhausted from the trip and would have appreciated some sleep and more time to gather himself together, but there's no time to waste. "In fact...I would ask _you_ if you would like to rest before this."

Emmeryn smiles at his offer but shakes her head. "If what you have to say is for the protection of my people, then I will listen for as long as needed."

She stands, but doesn't take her kind gaze away from Morgan. "Young Mark," she begins, "We will not inquire as to your true identity unless it is absolutely necessary, in return for your rescue of my brother and, in turn, my sister. If anyone tries to force you to reveal yourself, report to me at once, or my brother or sister. We shall protect you."

Morgan stands to bow once more. "Thank you, Exalt Emmeryn."

Emmeryn nods and walks toward the door. She speaks quietly to the guards, then looks back at Morgan. "I shall see you soon, then."

"Of course."

She leaves, and Morgan stands motionless, still shell-shocked. After a moment, he sinks back into his chair.

_Is she destined to die here, too? _Morgan wonders. His father and mother spoke nothing but praise for his late aunt, though he thinks that maybe the woman's excessive kindness might not be practical to match the harsh realities of war. Still, there's no denying her importance. In the first world, as Lucina had told him, Ylisse was socially devastated at her assassination and the war against Plegia had just barely been won. In the second, Emmeryn's suicide weakened the Plegian's resolve to fight.

Morgan closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. Perhaps he should have asked to have that audience in the morning.

* * *

><p><em>So I think I've decided that this will just be a fun side-project for me if I ever have the timefeel like writing. Chapters will be short and probably very sporadic. (When I start a new story, I have a habit of doing nothing BUT writing, so in the beginning it may look like I have all the time in the world to do this when I really don't.) That being said, I only have an idea of how I want this story to end - I dunno what's gonna happen in-between. It'll just be a make-up-the-plot-as-I-go-along-thing, but I'll do my best to keep out plot holes, etc. (If I even finish this.)_


	3. Chapter 3

_Note: In this, Morgan is from the same world as Lucina and the other future children._

iii.

"Morgan."

A chill went up his spine. He turned his head and smiled at his sister, trying to hide his nervousness. "Yes?"

Lucina put her hands on her hips. Her eyes narrowed and matched the stern frown on her lips. "You know what I'm about to say, don't you?"

"Um..." Morgan looked to the objects in his hands, then tried to win Lucina's mercy by flashing another smile. "Be sure to wash Falchion after I'm done cutting this apple?"

His sister stomped forward and snatched the Divine Blade from his hand. "_Don't _use Falchion to cut apples in the first place, you dolt!"

Morgan jumped; the half-peeled apple in his hand fell to the ground. "S-sorry, sister! I'm sorry!"

Lucina's fury abated at the sight of her brother looking so afraid, but she still grimaced. "You had best be more than just sorry. This sword is a national treasure of Ylisse and a final memento of our father. Would you use the last earthly remembrance of your dead father to cut _fruit_? You've shamed the weapon that built your very homeland!"

Morgan quickly hid the frown that threatened to show on his face. He could barely remember the father that Lucina had known so well; he felt much more comfortable and knowledgeable about this world's Chrom. But as for the rest of what his sister had said...he hadn't even thought about it.

"Well, you've seen for yourself how big the apple is," he said easily, trying to push his thoughts away. He hated dwelling on things like his sister often did. "And with no other knives around... B-besides, I've barely ever touched the thing before. I dunno... I got curious."

Lucina paused.

"So, um, a-are you...?" He studied her face and realized his efforts had been for naught. "Yeah, you're mad."

"You've never held Falchion before?"

The question surprised him. He blinked. "Not really, no. In the future, you always kept it by your side. And since we've been back here, I've maybe moved it from tent to tent once or twice."

Lucina was frowning. "Then we don't know if you have the potential to wield it."

"It takes a special person to use it?"

She nodded. "I see there is much you do not know - or remember, for that matter. This blade was forged with Naga's power and steeped in the Exalt's bloodline. Only a select few are able to wield it, even among the Ylissean royal house."

"Huh." Morgan cupped his chin in thought. "Well, I've never fought with it before - I don't remember, at least. I guess I wasn't deemed worthy."

"That's not necessarily true, Morgan," Lucina said, staring at him with a seriousness that unnerved him a little. "I never did give you a chance to try it before I traveled back here. Honestly, I'm mortified we've come this far without ever putting it to the test."

Morgan ignored the bad feeling in his stomach and smiled brightly. "It'd be pretty amazing if I could really wield it. A brilliant tactician wielding a legendary sword... Mother would be so proud! Father, too!"

Lucina didn't seem to share his train of thought. "Mostly, I'm ashamed I never stopped to consider it. If you are, in fact, among Falchion's chosen, that is knowledge we need. There may come a time when it proves necessary for you to take it up."

He laughed. "What, like if you're busy with Ini - ?"

"Like if I'm dead, Morgan."

The thought pierced his heart like a glass spear. He froze.

"Having someone able to wield it even after I'm gone would be a considerable asset," Lucina continued, ignorant of his inner torture. "We must use any means at our disposal to ensure the future is saved." She smiled. "Now let's go put it to the test."

He paused, then scratched the back of his head and looked away. "Aw, forget it. There's no way the sword would choose someone like me."

"You don't know that until you try," Lucina said encouragingly. "You yourself said you wished you were able to wield it. So let's -"

Morgan rounded on her. "I said _no_! I'm not doing it! Don't make me..." He squeezed his eyes shut. "_Don't make me practice for your death, Lucina_!"

There was a moment of silence that was filled only by Morgan's hard breaths and his sniffs as he tried to keep in his emotions.

Quietly, Lucina said, "I understand how you feel, but we must be practical about this." She came closer to him and put a hand on his shoulder, looking at him so that the gaze of the Brand in her left eye met the gaze of the Brand in his right eye. "We cannot afford to lose this war. No matter what happens or who dies."

"You think I don't know that?!" he snapped, but the sniff that followed made him sound pathetic to his own ears. "But it's not... It's just not that simple, all right? Think of all that Mother's doing to protect us! Would you betray that?"

Her eyes filled with sadness. "Not by choice, Morgan. Never by choice. But there are no guarantees in war."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?! If it means you dying, I don't want anything to do with Falchion!" He sniffed again and blubbered out, "And if you make me try, I'll only use it to chop up more apples, _so there_!" He pulled away from his sister. "This is pointless. I'm leaving."

He turned and stormed off.

_I'll never take up Falchion. Not like that. Never!_

()()()

The first things that Morgan sees when he's led into the room are the two Falchions lying on the long table. One is Chrom's; the other, Morgan's, lies atop the long cloth it was wrapped in earlier.

Then Morgan notices that his father and Frederick are already in the room, poring over the seemingly identical swords. Frederick is pointing out that Morgan's Falchion has a more worn handle, though only slightly, and Chrom is nodding. Morgan stares at his father, then hurriedly turns his gaze away.

"Ah, Mark," Chrom says in greeting, looking up. Though his eyes betray his curiosity toward Morgan, there is no trace of animosity or distrust like in Frederick's expression. "Please, sit down. Emmeryn should be here in a minute."

Morgan hesitates, then does as he is told. He looks around the room, hesitates again, then says, "...Where is - the other woman?"

Frederick immediately pounces upon the question. "What do you know about Robin? Do the two of you have some sort of plot against the Halidom?" he says, almost snapping, and Morgan has to force himself not to shy away. Before this day, he's never experienced Frederick's distrust.

Chrom puts a hand on Frederick's shoulder. "Calm down, it's all right. I firmly believe that Mark isn't against us. He saved my life, after all. And Robin, for that matter, could be your new tactician, so you'd better get used to her."

Morgan holds back a sigh of relief at hearing that his mother is still in the Shepherds. Instead, he says, "What I have to tell you involves her, too."

Chrom nods. "She's on her way."

Morgan nods in return, but doesn't say anything else. There's a tense atmosphere for a minute or two. Chrom sits down across from Morgan, and Frederick keeps glaring at the boy.

"For the record," Frederick says, almost randomly. "I _am _grateful for your assistance to my lord. However, I cannot allow any harm to come to the royal house of Ylisse. I will remain the ever-vigilant knight."

If he didn't sound so threatening, Morgan might have laughed. "Understood," he replies instead, reluctant to say anything more.

A door opens, and Morgan turns to see Emmeryn enter the room. She's followed by a much older man, probably an advisor, and last to enter the room other than another guard is Robin. Morgan's heart leaps to see his mother, but the emotion immediately plummets when she turns to him with a guarded expression on her face.

"Good evening," Emmeryn greets. Frederick and the guards bow to her; Morgan moves to stand as well, but Frederick throws such a fast and dangerous glare toward him that it almost physically knocks him back into his seat.

Emmeryn sits at the head of the table and the advisor sits at her right side so that there is a space between himself and Morgan. Robin hesitates, then hurries to sit beside Chrom. Frederick remains standing, as do the guards.

"Young Mark," Emmeryn says kindly, indicating the man on her right. "This is one of my advisors, Joran." Morgan dips his head to the man, who looks at him indifferently, and Emmeryn continues, "To start, I want to make things clear among all of us. Mark is to be treated with _respect_ along with caution until further notice. He is not to be treated unfairly, nor must he be forced to reveal his identity unless I say otherwise."

Nods and words of approval occur around the table, although Frederick looks like he wants nothing more than to rip off Morgan's mask.

Emmeryn smiles. "Now, then... Chrom? What say you about Mark's sword?"

"It's Falchion, all right," Chrom says, though as he says it he looks and sounds perplexed. "It appears to have seen more use than mine, however. I can wield it and no one else can, except him."

Even before Chrom finishes speaking Morgan realizes his own mistake.

Chrom learns forward over the table on his arm, looking at Morgan. Yet, Chrom says nothing, but Morgan knows what must be going through his father's mind.

_How could I have forgotten? That simply using Falchion labels me as one of the Exalted bloodline! I'm so stupid!_

Morgan doesn't understand how he keeps his cool, but he does. He turns to Emmeryn. "May I be allowed to speak freely?"

Emmeryn nods. "By all means."

Morgan takes a breath. He catches his mother's eye - though he doesn't know if she can tell he's looking at her - a finds a bit more strength even if this isn't his _true_ mother.

Finally he says: "I am not from this world."

There's a silence all around the room that isn't broken until the advisor Joran snorts. "You must be mad."

"I must agree, Milady," Frederick begins, but Emmeryn holds up her hand to silence him.

"That thing in the sky," Robin says. "That those creatures came out of... You came from that."

Morgan nods. "I could not fend off the Risen when I was journeying here. A few came through. However, the Risen will start to appear more and more, all over the continent. They would have come whether or not I did."

"Wait," Chrom said. "Before you keep going on that - where _exactly _did you come from?"

Morgan wants nothing more than to curl into a ball and hide from all the questions. He doesn't know where he could mess up - if one bit of information could tip the balance of fate in the right direction or not. He wonders how Lucina had managed.

"Originally," he begins slowly, "I'm from a world where the Halidom of Ylisse has almost ceased to exist. Plegia, Regna Ferox, and the countries in Valm were probably in the same condition, but there was no longer any communication between these places. The world...was overrun by Risen, which were ruled by the Fell Dragon, Grima."

Robin rubs the back of her hand. Only Morgan notices the action.

"Grima?" Emmeryn queries. "Naga's counterpart?"

Morgan nods. "I... When I was around seven years old, the House of Ylisse and the Shepherds were able to launch a strike against Grima." He pauses. "Most who went perished."

Chrom's frown is deep. "Who lead this expedition?"

Morgan interlaces his fingers tightly. "You did."

His father doesn't say anything.

"...So what happened to you will happen in our future," Robin surmises.

Morgan nods and takes another breath. "I was a part of a...second series of Shepherds, if you will. It took us a few years, but we managed to gather ourselves for whatever might come and went to Mount Prism. Naga lent us enough of her power to send us to another world - another time." He shifts a little. "In the process, we were attacked, and the spell caused us to be separated. I lost many of my memories of the first world."

"'First world'?" Robin echoes.

"You sound as if this is not the second world for you," Emmeryn says.

Morgan shakes his head. "This is the third, for me."

"Hence three Falchions - mine, yours, and that woman's," Chrom guesses, and Morgan reluctantly nods.

"The second world... we almost saved it, but it fell in the same manner that the original one did, only years earlier." He pauses. "The first battalion of Shepherds died to save my group. And of my group... I am the only survivor."

There is a silence and Morgan looks around the table. Frederick looks incredulous, as does the advisor, whose arms are crossed. Emmeryn, Robin, and Chrom are listening attentively, however, and all have serious expressions. Morgan silently thanks the gods that they are at least hearing him out.

"How did you try to stop the Fell Dragon?" Robin asks.

Morgan can't look at his mother, only off to the side. "One way to defeat the Fell Dragon is for Grima to kill himself, which isn't an option he would ever take. The most reliable way is for the holder of Falchion to perform the Awakening rite to become powerful enough to silence Grima for a thousand years. Both times, Chrom had been the one to do it. And both times... Chrom has been killed in the final battle."

Chrom looks a little stunned, his face turning a bit ashen. Then he frowns. "All right, then. If what you're saying is all true, then in the future I should just be more careful around dragons."

"It can't be that simple," Robin argues. "If fate has made those worlds go into chaos twice already, then time will still try to assume its natural course in this timeline. Am I right?"

Morgan has to force himself not to look at Emmeryn. "There have been...events...that we tried to change, but ultimately they weren't truly averted."

Chrom crosses his arms. "What kind of 'events'?"

Morgan hesitates. "Deaths," he says at last.

There's another silence, and then Robin asks, "What about that woman who attacked Chrom?"

"You seemed to know her," his father adds.

"She is an agent of Grima," Morgan says, a stern sound entering his voice. "Sent here to come after me and to kill all opposition that stands in the way. Eventually, Grima will gather enough strength to come into this timeline as well. Honestly, Grima could appear at any time, but if I had to wager a guess...at most we have a few years, due to his power being used on his agent."

He pauses. "The agent is imbued with Grima's bloodline. It makes it so that the agent is, essentially, a facet of Grima himself. She will do anything to achieve Grima's goals."

"An avatar, then," Robin says, and Morgan nods. His insides feel like ice.

Frederick grunts. "You have not said how you seem to know that woman, nor have you mentioned her name."

Morgan's hands ball into fists. His hands are trembling and he thinks his voice is, too. "Her name...is Lucina. But I cannot tell you more."

Frederick raises an eyebrow. "You _cannot_ tell us about the woman who tried to kill milord's life?"

Morgan sits straighter, fighting off his intimidation. "I cannot."

"Why can't you?" Chrom asks seriously, though he is far kinder than his knight.

"I cannot tell you more," Morgan repeats. He looks to his mother and father. "I have given you very little reason to trust me, I know. For all you know, I could simply be deranged. But please, believe me when I say that not all of the information I have of the future is beneficial for you to know as well."

* * *

><p><em>...I have mentioned that this is just really for my enjoyment, right? I'm very bad at plotting so I'm kinda not even bothering. Still doing my best, though.<em>

_(This is what I do instead of studying for finals, apparently.)_


	4. Chapter 4

iv.

Severa was hugging her knees and crying. Owain sat beside her. He'd been trying to comfort her, but now he stared off into the distance.

Gerome sat on the other side of camp, tending to Minerva's front leg. Nah leaned against the wyvern and rubbed the beast's snout, but she looked as lost as Minerva's low crooning sounded.

Cynthia, Laurent, Brady, Noire, and Yarne sat together. No one made a sound, except when Cynthia and Brady sniffed. Earlier, they'd been crying loudly, but had since quieted. Not even Yarne had been quivering or muttering about becoming extinct, probably because now it was a definite reality.

The only ones standing were Kjelle and Inigo. Kjelle was on one side of camp, facing the woods so that no one could see the tears dropping from her face. Most of her armor had been torn away by a horde of Risen, but she still had a lance gripped tightly in her hand, which was trembling.

Inigo paced back and forth on the other side of camp. He kept muttering to himself and glancing off into the woods, like his mother would come running or his father would appear out of the night with a pack of crows as per usual. But Morgan could also hear him whispering, "_Lucina, Lucina, please no, not you too, not like this_."

The young tactician sat alone, his legs crossed beneath him. Falchion lay across his lap. Dried blood encrusted the blade, hilt, and handle. His tears splattered against the metal, liquefying some of the blood but not washing it away. He wanted to wash it away, but then he would have no trace of his parents left at all.

Morgan only looked up when a pair of boots entered his vision. Gerome stood above him. Part of his mask was chipped, revealing the slightest bit of redness around his eye. Still, Gerome's quiet, rough voice betrayed nothing of his own emotions.

"We've rested long enough. We need to move out."

Morgan stared at him without speaking, then turned his head back down.

"Morgan."

"What's the point?" he whispered, staring at his reflection in the part of Falchion's blade that wasn't bloodied. "We've failed."

Gerome's voice came out as a growl. "Yes, we have. But we're still alive."

"We'll only fail again."

"Don't say that!" Inigo snapped, overhearing the conversation. Morgan looked up again and saw that the white-haired boy's eyes were red-rimmed, and his voice was rough and nearly broken. His mouth was set in a deep frown. "Our parents - our parents died saving us so we could escape and try again!"

"...'Our parents'?"

Inigo didn't seem to hear the younger boy's murmur. "As hard as this is, Luci - Lucina wouldn't want us to give up!"

A violent trembling overtook Morgan and he sprang to his feet, gripping Falchion with one hand on the hilt and the other on the blade.

"'_Our_ parents'?!" he roared. "'Lucina'?! My parents didn't protect _me_! Lucina didn't protect _us_!" He could feel Falchion cutting into his hand. "Your parents died protecting each other and us and _my mother killed my father_!" He panted and felt lightheaded, but everything was overridden by hot, hot anger. "_My mother killed - _!"

_SLAP!_

Morgan reeled back, his cheek stinging. He lifted his hurt hand to his face, unaware of the blood on his palm.

"Do you think we don't care about that?!" Severa snapped. Her red, filthy pigtails flew about as she shook her head. "Morgan, you think we don't understand?! We've seen this _twice _now, and you don't even remember the first time!"

Owain came jogging up. He held his hand out to try to calm the girl. "Severa, stop - !"

"Shut up, glory hog!" she yelled at him, then turned back to Morgan. "You can't just - !"

Severa broke off.

Morgan could barely see her. Tears were rapidly streaming out of his eyes, down his face. His breath came in gasps. "M-my mother...!" It sounded like he was taking his last bits of air. He shook. "Father and s-sister...!"

Tears appeared in Severa's eyes again. "D-dummy," she said, but there was nothing in the word but empty air and she hurried to embrace him. "I-I'm sorry."

Morgan buried his face in her shoulder. More people crowded around him - maybe everyone, even Minerva - but he couldn't make out their voices over the sounds of his own sobbing.

()()()

Emmeryn decides that what Morgan said was enough for the night, and sends everyone off to get rest so that in the morning they can continue with the questioning after breakfast. Morgan balks a little at the thought of continuing the interview for longer than necessary, but he can't convince himself that he wouldn't appreciate sleep.

The guards lead him off to a guest room, far from the room he kept in the second world. This room is spacious, with a large, plush bed and enormous windows that reveal the night sky and a section of Ylisstol. Off to the right is a door that leads to the bathroom.

Morgan stands still for a moment, taking in the silence of the room and the slight shuffling of the guards remaining outside his door. Emmeryn promised him privacy while he rests, and though he trusts her it takes him a moment to convince himself that it's safe enough to go bathe. Even still, he makes sure the doors lock before he confines himself in the bathroom and removes his clothing. He hesitates to remove his mask even in this solitude, but manages to do so - telling himself he'll put it back on as soon as he washes his face and hair - and draws a warm bath.

_I can't believe I'm acting like Gerome, _he thinks jokingly, but then grimaces and gets in the water.

Morgan's muscles relax for the first time in a long while - he can't remember how long it's been since he's bathed. He probably stunk but didn't realize it. He scrubs at his arms, legs, and face and is thankful that his clothing covered his filthy skin. His neck stings a little and he remembers the cut, though it's nothing deeper than one acquired from paper. He rinses his hair and a bit of the brown dye he bought from Anna as a joke diffuses into the water. If everything here goes on for a while he's going to have to get more somehow, or permanently fix the hood of his cloak to his face. Both ideas just make him sigh.

When he finishes cleaning himself he puts his cold mask back on but sits in the water for a while longer. He slowly swirls some of the liquid around with his fingers, dully watching the motions.

Morgan gets out of the bath and drains the water. He would try to wash his clothes, but without his tome he doubts he could muster enough mana to dry the garments in time for morning. Instead, he does his best to shake off the dust and dirt into the empty bath and dresses into his underclothes.

When he goes back into the bedroom, he finds that he missed seeing something. Just to make sure, he checks the lock on the door. Finding it still secure, he goes back to the bed, where a set of silk pajamas lay on the covers. They're just like the ones he used to wear when he lived here. The blue pattern seems familiar, though he can't place an exact time when he's seen it, and tries them on.

They're far too loose and too cold, so he takes them off.

Morgan wraps his cloak around himself without putting his arms through the sleeves and crawls under the covers. He sinks into the mattress and the down pillows nearly swallow him up. It's more comfortable than he can believe.

"Wouldn't Severa be jealous," he mutters, staring up at the ceiling and begging for sleep to take him.

()()()

If he has dreams, he doesn't remember them when he wakes up.

In fact, for a moment, he doesn't remember anything at all.

Morgan stares at the ceiling, perplexed. Morning sunlight filters through the large windows, lighting the crimson curtains on the bedposts. There's too much space in the room. It's too quiet. _Is everyone else awake already? ...Why am I here…?_

At once it feels like he's been slammed with a hammer. His breath leaves him. He sits straight up and rips the suffocating mask off his face. His gaze rifles across the room.

He's in the palace. His fingers grip the soft covers on the bed. He's really in the palace.

Memories of yesterday flood his mind. Emmeryn is alive. He saw his father. He _saved _his father. His father is alive. His mother is alive.

_Mother's alive…!_

Laughter starts to escape Morgan's mouth. It's quiet, but still there. He can barely believe it. His parents are alive. Not really the ones who had him, not really the ones he grew close to, but it's _them. _Alive.

Morgan gets out of bed and hurries to put on his clothes and mask. He's smiling brightly when he opens the door and finds two guards in the hallway - not the ones from last night, but these men do appear to be tired since it's early morning.

"What's for breakfast?" Morgan chirps, startling them, but then they quickly get in his way.

"You aren't allowed out until the meeting," the taller man says. "Someone will bring you food."

Morgan pouts. "That's a bit lonely, but I understand. Thank you!"

He retreats into the room and closes the door, then hurries to the window. He can see the sun peeking up from the far mountains in the distance. Ylisstol lies outside the palace walls, and he can't see individual people, but he thinks he can spot movement.

Someone knocks on the door a few minutes later, and the guards come in with a maid, who puts a tray of food on the table. Morgan thanks her profusely, sits down, and eats quickly. He didn't realize how famished he was.

It's still too early for the meeting when he finishes, but the guards say they'll inform him when it's time to go. He's left alone again in the room, so he lays on the bed and smiles at the ceiling.

"It's real," he murmurs. "They're real. Alive."

About an hour later, the guards knock, and Morgan springs to his feet to answer the door. They're confused at his cheeriness, but lead him through the hallways.

The castle seems to be a flurry of activity in the morning. He remembers it being so. Knights-in-training are led one way, clerics another. A woman with a tight bun and a beauty mark leads a squadron of women toward the south end of the castle, and Morgan realizes they must be the pegasus knights. He watches them go by, but a flash of color catches his eye, and his blood turns cold.

_Severa?_

But it isn't her.

It's Cordelia, talking to Sumia as they walk along in line.

_I should be happy, _he tries to tell himself. The women are alive, after all. All of the Shepherds are. But their children aren't.

Morgan becomes quiet and unaware of his surroundings as they continue on.

When they get to the meeting room, he sits down where he sat the previous night. For about ten minutes he and his guards are the only ones in the room, but then, all at once, the others enter. Except this time, Emmeryn isn't accompanied by her advisor; instead, it's the woman from earlier who was leading the pegasus knights.

The woman bows slightly toward Morgan. "Young Mark. My name is Phila, commander of the pegasus knights and Emmeryn's bodyguard. I would like to personally thank you for saving Lord Chrom's life."

Morgan shifts a little uncomfortably. He's been thanked too much for that now, he thinks. He can only nod back to her.

"Are you going to tell us your name today, Young Mark?" Frederick asks pointedly as he takes his place standing.

"No, Sir Frederick," Morgan replies, but there's no cheek in his voice like there might've once been.

His parents take their seats across from him again. Morgan watches them, finding it surreal to see them alive - he doesn't think he'll ever get used to it. Not only that, but the two of them are at the beginning stages of their relationship. In both of the other words Morgan remembers his mother telling him how much she implicitly trusted Chrom from the start, but here he can't gauge anything about them.

Only that it seems unlikely that Robin will ever kill the man she's sitting beside.

"Young Mark," Emmeryn begins, and Morgan turns to her. "For now we have decided to believe you. After all, your Falchion is proof enough of your words."

"...When will I be able to have it back?" Morgan asks. "And my tome."

"She didn't say anything about trusting you," Frederick says at once.

Phila nods. "Please understand us. We cannot give you our full trust, at least not yet."

"I understand," Morgan replies. "But please understand me when I say that I do not feel safe without my weapons."

"I'll give them back to you as soon as possible, Mark," Emmeryn assures him.

"...All right," he concedes. He's powerless to do anything, anyways.

"...First of all," Robin begins a moment later. "Why do you have my cloak?"

"...In the first world, you made a replica," Morgan says slowly. "This is the replica." That part is the lie; his mother gave him her own cloak before going on to face Validar.

Robin frowns, but doesn't pursue the issue.

"We want to ask you more about Grima," Chrom says, and Morgan forces himself to nod and answer, "I'll tell you if I can."

"You said that this 'Lucina' has Grima's blood," Chrom continues. "How is this possible?"

Morgan thinks it over, and finds that he can speak without revealing his sister's origins. "It's much the same how Naga made a pact with the Ylissean royal family. But a sect of the Grimleal dedicated themselves to creating an avatar for Grima to house upon his return. They've bred a whole line to lead to the avatar."

Robin's frown deepens. "There's an avatar in this world?"

Morgan's blood chills, but he forces himself to nod. "Yes. An unused one, as of yet. So the avatar here hasn't been awakened with Grima's power."

"So Grima could come to this world and take control of the avatar?" Robin presses.

"...Yes."

"Is it this Lucina woman?" Phila asks.

Uneasiness is growing by leaps and bounds in Morgan's stomach. "...As of yet, she is not born here."

"He called her an 'agent,' not an avatar," Frederick points out. "Yet that means there is a progenitor alive. From what Young Mark has said, this 'avatar' could truly prove to be a threat."

"We can stop Grima without involving the avatar," Morgan protests weakly, but he doesn't know how that could ever happen. "It isn't the avatar's fault they were bred for this."

Chrom grimaces. "I have to agree with Mark. As of yet, the avatar isn't guilty of anything."

Robin glances to Chrom, then studies Morgan. She's thinking, but doesn't say anything.

"Do you know the identity of this avatar?" Phila asks, her voice becoming taut.

Morgan doesn't answer.

"You must tell us," Frederick demands. He looks to Emmeryn. "Milady, we must at least find this person and keep them imprisoned. If the worst comes, we'll execute - "

"_No_!"

Morgan slams his hands on the table and shoots to his feet, glaring at Frederick through his mask.

"You can't do that to an innocent person!" he shouts. "And it won't even work! _It'll only make things_ _worse_!"

* * *

><p><em>I can't believe I spent all day writing this instead of my history paper and studying for my finals. (Oh yeah. I can believe it. Because I'm an idiot.) <em>


	5. Chapter 5

v.

"Sister!" Morgan jogged through the castle hallways. "Sister!"

He ran to the library entrance, but at the same time Lucina stepped out. Morgan tried to stop, but he tripped over his boots in true Sumia fashion and fell in a heap at the princess's feet.

"Morgan?!" She knelt beside him but kept glancing between him and the corridor. "Is something wrong?! Is someone attacking the castle?!"

"Oh - nope!" Morgan sat straight up and rubbed at a sore spot on his head. "Sorry for worrying you."

Lucina relaxed, but a frown remained on her face. "You have to stop yelling like that when there's nothing going on."

"I said I was sorry!"

She finally broke into a small smile. She stood, then held her hand out to him. "So, what's so exciting?"

Morgan accepted her help and rose to his feet. "You'll never guess what I found in the courtyard," he jabbered, digging through his pockets before pulling out a blue mask, broken in two by a clean cut nearly exactly down the middle. "You wore this when we went through the timestream, right?"

"I did." Lucina took one piece and turned it over in her hand. "An assassin broke it on the night of Aunt Emmeryn's..." She trailed off and then smiled a little, and Morgan thought it looked a little forced. "I completely forgot about it."

"But it's so cool-looking!" Morgan took back the piece Lucina held and lined the mask up along the cut. "I'd wear this all the time and make fun of Gerome! _Oh my gods, _why didn't I think of that before?!"

Lucina laughed, her smile turning genuine. "You'd best be careful, little brother. You don't want to end up on the wrong side of his axe."

Morgan shrugged. "Do you think Miriel knows mending spells? I bet she does."

"Probably," Lucina agreed.

A thought struck Morgan. "Oh... Do you want it back when it's fixed?" He lowered his hands a little and looked his sister in the eye. "It was yours first."

"No, Morgan, but thank you." Her smile became a bit softer. "I don't need it anymore. You can keep it."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," she laughed. "Maybe _you'll _need it for when Gerome starts hunting you down for making fun of him."

()()()

Morgan freezes, even though he's hot all over from his outburst.

Everyone in the room is staring at him. Emmeryn and Chrom look concerned. Robin's face is a mask. Phila stands and Frederick grabs an axe at his side.

Before the knight can threaten him, Morgan slides his hands back from the table and stands up straight, but keeps his head turned down a little. "I won't answer any more questions."

"But if what you say is true, then you must," Phila argues.

Morgan doesn't look at any of them. "I won't answer any more questions."

There's a tense silence. Emmeryn finally breaks it when she says, "All right, then. Guards, please take Mark back to his room. Continue to make sure he is comfortable."

The guards come forward, but before they can grab his arms, Morgan turns from the table and leaves as swiftly as possible.

When he's back in his room and alone, he rushes to the bed and buries himself under the covers. The air quickly becomes humid and sticky from his breath, but he doesn't care. He grabs a pillow, wishing it were his mother or father or sister, and buries his face against it. It pushes the mask into his skin.

"I can't do this," he says, his voice muffled. "I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. _Why didn't I die, too_?"

He stays that way for a long while, muttering and feeling tears leak down the side of his face. He can't stop thinking about how Lucina would be so much better at this than him. So much more reliable. He can barely look at his parents without wanting to cry. He doesn't want them to die again.

Someone knocks on the door, probably an hour or two later, and the guards announce that his lunch has arrived. Morgan doesn't reply. Maybe they'll think he's asleep. Maybe they'll think he's dead.

They knock again, and then for a while there's silence. Morgan just convinces himself that he's all alone in the world when he hears another rapping.

"Mark? Are you awake?"

The voice startles him out of his stupor. He slowly sits up, the cool air hitting his skin like a winter wind.

"Mark?"

"O-one moment," he calls, using his sleeve to wipe the wet trails from his face. He gets out of bed, makes sure his hood hangs properly over his head, and approaches the door. He hesitates, then opens it.

Emmeryn smiles at him. "Young Mark. Would you like to walk with me?"

()()()

The courtyards are lush and green. Flowers of all types - roses and violets especially - color the area. It's warm in the summer sun, but there are plenty of trees to provide shade.

Morgan walks beside Emmeryn on a stone pathway. Phila follows them, but at a bit of a distance. Behind her are two women who appear to be pegasus knights, but Morgan's never seen them before.

"Are you comfortable in your quarters?" Emmeryn asks quietly, her voice smooth and pleasant.

"Y-yes, Your Exaltedness," Morgan replies. He keeps glancing at her, unsure of her, but her eyes are on the surrounding foliage.

"There are no problems?"

"No."

"I am told that you refused a meal."

The question catches him off-guard. He's expecting an interrogation, not this. But then again, he still doesn't know what to expect from Emmeryn. "I...was not hungry."

"Really?" Emmeryn says. She smiles. "I sometimes think that all men must eat like my brother. Rarely does he not eat, and he always has more than even a pegasus can have."

A chuckle escapes Morgan before he realizes it, because it's a very accurate description of his father. As soon as it's out he tries to take it back in and becomes silent again. He looks cautiously at Emmeryn again.

The Exalt is looking back at him.

"Young Mark," she says, "how old are you?"

He has to think the answer over before he can reply. "I believe...seventeen. I was born on the fifth of May. But the years since I was born...are hard to count."

"That is quite young," she remarks. "And you have few memories of your childhood, am I correct?"

Something about Emmeryn's voice makes him relaxed. _Maybe she has a charm spell around her that makes her such a beloved leader_, he muses to himself, hardly serious. She's simply an extraordinary sort of person.

"I do not have many," he admits. "I remember my parents...my mother more than my father. I have a - sibling," he says, reluctant to mention _sister_.

"What sort of people are your parents?"

Morgan looks at the flowers alongside the path and finds himself smiling. "They always put other people before themselves." He grins. "They're really sappy, especially my dad. Sometimes it's embarrassing."

Emmeryn lets out a small laugh. "That's wonderful."

Morgan shrugs. "But...I guess a lot of parents are like that."

"Mine were not."

He looks back to the Exalt to find that her smile has faded. However, it comes back as soon as she notices his attention.

"Do not concern yourself with it," she says. "It is of no importance."

Morgan doesn't know what to say, so he looks off to the side.

"Mark."

He looks back at her to find that she has stopped. He halts.

Emmeryn is no longer smiling. Her face is serious, her eyes narrowed in determination.

"I understand that you hold a precarious position," she says. "And I do not doubt that what you have told us is the truth. But if there is anything more that could benefit my people, I implore you: Tell me it now."

Morgan's heart sinks.

"...You are far too kind," he says quietly. He glances to the trailing pegasus knights, and deems that they're too far away to hear him if he keeps his words hushed.

He takes a breath. "In the first world...no, in _both _worlds...your kindness reaches the hearts of many. But...that kindness is not what is needed to win wars. Diplomacy can only go so far." He tries to meet her gaze head-on. "However hard it may be for you, sometimes you must choose violence. Sometimes there is no other way."

Emmeryn remains silent for a few moments. Finally, she nods and says, "I will consider your words when the time comes."

Morgan nods back. "That is all I can ask of you."

"Mark."

"Yes?"

She smiles softly. "Your family...I can keep them protected for you. And I promise no one will discern your identity."

Morgan lets out an unintentional huff and turns away. "That's not possible. But...I thank you for the offer."

()()()

Morgan returns to his room and finds that he isn't nearly as hopeless about the future as he was that morning. He's still uncertain, more uncertain than he's ever been in his life, but somehow, speaking to his aunt has calmed him.

He sits on the bed and takes off his mask. He traces his fingers along the edges. _Lucina... I'm sorry we failed. But I promise I won't fail this time around. I won't give up, even if it's so hard I can barely breathe. You fought so hard for our happiness. Our friends did, too. I'll fight hard. I'll make sure the us in this world grow up happy._

A hard rapping sounds form his door, and Morgan hurriedly puts his mask back on and goes to turn the handle.

For the second time, he is surprised at who stands in the doorway.

"Mark," Chrom says. He stands tall, with one hand rested on the end of Falchion's hilt. His expression is determined, but there's also a small smile on his lips.

"C-Chrom?" Morgan stutters, suddenly very aware of how small he sounds.

"Get to bed early tonight," the lord says. "You're reporting to the Shepherds' barracks in the morning."

Morgan's brows knit together. "...Why?"

"We're marching to Regna Ferox."

* * *

><p><em>Sorry for the short chapter. I'll make sure the next one is longer. (Wish me luck on my last final tomorrow!)<em>


	6. Chapter 6

vi.

"I cannot believe such a false accusation against my father!" Owain put his hands on his hips. "The father of the scion of legend would never lose against the likes of you! Er... Not to be rude, Lucina."

The princess laughed at her cousin's antics. "No, no, it's all right. I can't believe I won against Lon'qu either."

Morgan was chewing on a piece of stale bread, but he still said, "Lushina, t'll th' shtory! T'll i'!"

"Maybe you should learn to speak _after_ swallowing your food," Severa said, disgusted. Morgan swallowed his food and smiled brightly at her, causing her to roll her eyes.

Yarne tentatively poked the campfire with a stick. "We should get to bed soon. It's dark out. We have to be up in the morning. Did I mention it's dark out?"

Cynthia nudged him. She grinned. "Don't worry, the Justice Cabal will protect you from all the monsters!"

"I-I didn't say I was scared of the dark!" Yarne stammered as Owain and Morgan raised their fists and shouted "Justice Cabal!"

Lucina laughed. "Do you want to hear the story or not?"

A chorus of "I do!" came from Morgan, Cynthia, and Nah. The half-manakete turned to Gerome and pouted when the wyvern rider didn't show any interest in joining in.

Owain turned up his nose. "I, scion of legend, cannot deign to listen to a story which mocks my father!"

"Fine, fine!" Lucina conceded. She was smiling widely. "But as soon as he got close to me he must have realized I was a woman somehow, because he could hardly -"

"That is it!" Owain jumped from his seat on a log and drew his sword - Yarne hurried to hide behind Cynthia. "Dear cousin, I am afraid I must challenge you to a duel. My sword hand itches to fight for my father's honor!"

"Oh, really?" Lucina smirked and stood, slowly pulling Falchion from its sheathe. "You truly want a duel?"

"Kick his butt, sister!" Morgan cheered, and Brady called, "Watch ya head, Owain!"

"Hey."

All sound stopped and heads turned to the outer edge of the firelight. There stood Lon'qu, a frown on his face. He held a knife and a half-peeled potato in his hands. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of his son and niece squaring off.

"Don't fight here," he said. "You'll end up falling in the campfire."

Morgan and a few of the other children erupted into laughter, desperately trying not to reveal the subject of the duel, and Owain stuttered, "F-Father, please, like _I _could ever do something so outrageously clumsy!"

Lon'qu ignored his words. He grimaced a little at the loud noise. "Don't you children have bedtimes?"

"Don't get him started on that!" Severa moaned, but Owain was already eloquently proclaiming that "scions of legend do not require bedtimes" and then, when Lon'qu gave a rebuttal, "but Mom said I could stay up late!"

Lucina sheathed Falchion. "Maybe we should _all_ get some sleep," she agreed, smiling.

"Tomorrow we hit th' road again," Brady added, getting up.

Morgan stood and held his hand out to Severa. The redhead, frowning, considered his hand for a moment before grabbing it with her own and letting him help her up.

"You're welcome," he said with a grin when she didn't thank him.

"You're such a happy-go-lucky idiot," she muttered, crossing her arms.

He grinned. "That's what I'm here for."

She rolled her eyes, then turned to continue watching Owain make a fool of himself. Morgan saw the hints of a small smile playing on her lips.

()()()

Morgan stands on the side of the road, watching the Shepherds gather and prepare for the journey. It's just a diplomatic mission, but Regna Ferox is a nation of warriors who rely more on strength and action than just words and politics, so bringing a fighting force - even a small one like this - is necessary.

Sumia is talking with Lissa, mostly about pegasi and the knight's lack of one due to the difficulties of breeding. Sully and Stahl sit in the saddles of their horses and chat, though Stahl's munching on some sort of jerky. Vaike lazily plays with his axe, and Miriel stiffly warns him about the dangers of forgetting it again. Virion is checking his appearance with a small mirror, unaware that Kellam stands beside him. Morgan wishes he could forget about his new constant shadow, Frederick.

_I still don't even have my weapons, _he thinks, trying not to grumble the words aloud. He's pretty sure Frederick would easily take the opportunity to spear him through with the explanation, "He was muttering darkly, milord, I thought he was plotting."

Chrom and Robin finally come from the direction of the barracks, carrying the last of the supplies to put onto the horses. Robin has a slip of parchment in her hands and walks to the front of the group after putting down her load, and Chrom quickly joins her.

"Kellam," Robin calls out, begining the roll call. Everyone except Morgan gives a little start when the young knight answers.

"Mark," the tactician eventually calls, and Morgan can feel his skin heat up a little when eyes turn to him. He's been cast glances already, but having them look at him all at once is unnerving. Especially when he sees the resemblance they bear toward their future children.

When she's finished, Chrom adds, "Is everyone ready? We've a long march ahead of us."

"Then let's get it over with already," Vaike yells.

Chrom laughs. "That's a good attitude, Vaike. Now, let's move out."

()()()

Morgan walks up front with Robin, Chrom, and Frederick. Miriel was up there too for a time, telling Robin about each Shepherd's strength and weaknesses, but she quickly melted back into the main group. She seems far more curious about studying her fellow Shepherds for her own experiments than for planning tactics like she had done before Robin's arrival.

Morgan does his best to ignore the others as they continue on toward Regna Ferox. While he wasn't really close to the first generation of the Shepherds other than his parents, aunt, and uncle, he feels like he can guess what each person will say or do next. Once again, he's unnerved.

"...So," he says at length, trying to distract himself. He looks to Chrom. "Why am I coming with you to Regna Ferox?"

"Well," Chrom says with a slight laugh, looking toward the ever-present knight. "Frederick the Wary here wanted to keep you in his sights at all times."

"Milord, please," Frederick says.

Robin laughs at this, and Chrom, smiling, continues, "Besides, Mark, I thought it would be a good idea to see how you stand up. I was impressed the first time I saw you fight, but that was only once. In any case, nothing builds trust like battling side by side."

"Trust," Morgan repeats quietly. He glances back toward the bulk of the Shepherds for a moment. "...What did you tell them about me?"

"The truth," Chrom replies. "I won't lie to my comrades."

Morgan falls into silence and looks down at his boots as they walk. He wishes the journey wasn't going to take a few days. He almost wants to be stuck in his room back at the palace. At least maybe he would have Aunt Emmeryn for company. Honestly, he's worried about her; before leaving, he warned her to keep up security, and to keep an eye on the Plegian border. She laughed and said Phila and Frederick had already handled such matters, but that she would be careful. Still...

"...So, Mark," Robin says eventually, and he quickly looks at her. But, before she can continue, the sound of galloping hooves reach their ears.

Sully and Stahl slow their horses as they approach. Stahl's face is a bit ashen, and Sully is scowling.

"Up ahead, at the bridge," she reports. "There's Risen crawling all over the place."

"Risen?" Chrom repeats.

"Not surprising," Morgan says.

Robin immediately goes into tatician mode. "How far up are they?"

"About half a mile," Stahl answers.

Robin turns around to face the Shepherds. "All right everyone, we need to drop off our supplies with a guard. Does anyone volunteer?"

"I'll do it!" Sumia calls, and immediately starts unhitching supplies from Frederick's horse. The others hurry to do likewise, and Robin takes the moment to turn to Morgan.

"Here," she says, offering his tome. "For the battle."

Morgan's mouth drops a little in surprise as he takes the spell book. He inspects the cover, spine, and some of the pages to make sure nothing is amiss.

"I took the liberty of looking through it," Robin says. "My apologies. But those appear to be very powerful spells, all of a wide range. Did you write it yourself?"

"I had help," Morgan replies, but doesn't elaborate.

"Well, as long as we're going to battle, you might as well have this back, too," Chrom says, pulling the second-world Falchion from the strap on his back.

"T-thank you," Morgan says, surprised, and slips the sword and sheathe into his belt.

"Milord, I must protest," Frederick argues, but Chrom cuts him off.

"I know what I'm doing, Frederick, and so does Robin." He turns back to Morgan. "Mark, for the time being, we'll only allow you these weapons in battle."

Morgan nods. "Understood," he says, even though he already knows he's going to miss the now-familiar weight of the weapons at his side.

"All right, everyone," Robin calls when she sees that the Shepherds are ready. "Vaike, Kellam, Chrom, Mark and I will take the front lines. Virion, Miriel, you're behind us. Lissa, stay in the back. Frederick, Sully, and Stahl are going to head northeast and come in from that direction once the fighting has begun. We'll take out whatever's in front of the bridge, then slowly make our way across so Lissa has time to heal us."

"Milord," Frederick begins, and once again Chrom doesn't let him finish.

"You heard our tactician." The prince softens a bit. "It's all right, Frederick. I can take care of myself."

The knight frowns, but finally goes to mount his mare. He shoots Morgan a withering, deadly glare, then signals to the cavaliers. They leave the north road and head into the woods.

"All right, everyone, let's go!" Chrom calls, unsheathing Falchion. The Shepherds let out a cheer, though Morgan stays silent.

The Shepherds take position and hurry along the road. Chrom turns to Robin and smiles. "This is your first real time leading the Shepherds. You up for it?"

"You wouldn't have recruited me if I wasn't up for it," Robin replies, and Chrom laughs.

Morgan finds himself smiling.

After a few minutes, the road begins to open up into a clearing. Robin holds up her arm, motioning the group to slow to a stop so she can survey the battlefield. Morgan does so as well. There's Risen wandering about on both the near and far side of the river.

"Remember, everyone, stay in formation," Robin warns, standing in front of the group.

Morgan hesitates, then hurries to stand beside his mother. He turns toward the Shepherds, few though they are, through the slits in his mask. "Risen are clumsier than people, but they're still dangerous. They tend to attack people with weaker defenses, or to gang up on soldiers."

The Shepherds stare at him, and his stomach churns. He moves back to his spot beside Chrom and unsheathes the second-world Falchion.

The crown prince seems to be holding back a chuckle. "Thanks for the advice."

"No problem," Morgan replies, though adrenaline is racing through his veins for all the wrong reasons.

If Chrom is planning to say anything more, he cannot; after taking one last look at the matchup, Robin lifts her arm and yells out. The Shepherds launch forward into the field, attracting the attention of the Risen. The undead creatures lurch towad the Shepherds, and it's only seconds before Morgan slashes through one of them. Instantly the Risen turns to ash.

Beside him, it takes Chrom a couple of hits to fell his first Risen. The prince shoots Morgan an impressed look. "Good job!"

The praise makes Morgan feel warm, and he redoubles his efforts.

()()()

The entire battle is over quickly, especially once Frederick, Sully, and Stahl arrive from the east. A well-aimed arrow from Virion fells the last of the Risen, but Robin orders the soldiers on foot to search the area and the mounted units ("Yes, Frederick, you too") to return for Sumia and the supplies. Within fifteen minutes the jobs are finished, and the Shepherds are reunited together on the road.

After a bit of deliberation, Robin and Chrom decide that they can all last another hour of travel before it's too dark to see. After a quick refill of water at the river, the group continues on. Everyone's a little bit tired and a couple of people are nursing bruises that Lissa did her best to heal, but no one is critically injured in the slightest. Morgan hopes it can stay like this for as long as possible - even more.

"You really do fight well," Chrom says out of the blue, bringing Morgan back to the present. The prince already confiscated Morgan's Falchion, and Robin took the tome, but both seemed reluctant when they did so. "But I suppose you've had a lot of practice."

"Thank you," Morgan replies, once again feeling some warmth enter his chest. "But yes. Those Risen were rather weak. The stronger Grima gets or the closer the Risen are to the Fell Dragon, the more formidable they are. Risen can also be summoned by a spellcaster, so it depends on their strength as well."

"We'll get better," Chrom says, and Morgan wonders how his father can be so optimistic.

_He used to ask the same about me, _he remembers, and he feels a bit of twisted humor. _The less experience you have, the more naivety, I guess._

"...Sparring might be a good idea," Chrom continues. "Would you like to, sometime?"

Morgan sneaks a glance toward Frederick. "And if I try to kill you?"

His father laughs. "I don't think you will."

"Why?"

"Because you're trying to help us. That's good enough for me."

Morgan tries to look his father in the eye. "And if it's all a scheme? There are many things I can't tell you."

"You ask too many questions." Chrom frowns a little, pondering. "You have a point, but I don't think it's true. I trust my instincts."

Morgan doesn't know how to reply, so he stays quiet. He doesn't know why he's asking his father all these questions. He wishes he could just be open and forward, happy-go-lucky, but now it's impossible. Yesterday was a fluke.

"You didn't say whether you wanted to or not."

Morgan jumps a little. "What?"

"A spar," Chrom reminds him. "Not tonight; it's getting dark. Perhaps when we camp next?"

Morgan looks to his father, and a rush of memories come back to him. Not of the first, world, but of the second: training with his father; laughing at his father's expressions; being scolded for being afraid of a (admittedly terrifying) bug; and beating his own head in an attempt to recover from his amnesia, only to remember just one of Chrom's smiles.

He beams. "Of course."

* * *

><p><em>Fun times at the beginning of my over a month-long winter vacation include: forgetting my 3DS games except FEA at my dorm; finding out my Wii disc drive is broken, so not only is Twilight Princess stuck in there, but I can't play Path of Radiance and Radiant Dawn like I've been planning; and maybe (probably?) getting a virus trying to get an emulator so I can play with Ike and Soren again (and now I'm too nervous to find a good emulator). *grumbles*<em>


	7. Chapter 7

vii.

"Mother?" Morgan stood for a moment outside his parents' tent. In one hand he held a bowl of Stahl's stew, and in the other a small, tied kerchief filled with Morgan's secret sweets he kept hidden from Gaius. "Can I come in?"

No one answered. Morgan waited for another minute, softly calling for his mother. When still no response came, he quietly went inside.

The tent was only slightly bigger than the standard. A large bedroll lay in the middle, and maps hung from the walls. Robin's desk sat in one corner; a detailed layout of Plegia was unrolled on it. No one was there.

Morgan placed the food carefully on an empty part of the desk. He stood still, lost as to what to do.

A ruffling noise caught his attention, and he turned to see his father walking through the tent flap. Chrom's expression was more tired than Morgan had ever seen before. The Fire Emblem was conspicuously absent from his arm.

The Exalt stopped short when he saw his son. "Morgan?"

Morgan tried to smile, but nothing came to his lips. Instead, his eyebrows furrowed. "Do you...know where Mother is?"

"I was just looking for her," Chrom admitted. A smile came to his face, but it was a bit helpless and sad. Still, Morgan appreciated the gesture. "Let's go look together."

Morgan came to his father's side, and together they left the tent. Chrom put a hand on Morgan's shoulder, and though the young tactician's concerns didn't abate, the contact comforted him more than he could say.

"If I know your mother," Chrom said, his voice a quiet rumble, "something like this would've taken her out of camp where no one would find her. Well, no one except us."

Together, the two left the encampment. A few Shepherds glanced their way, but no one stopped them. They headed out into the hills surrounding the camp, in the opposite direction of the river. They began climbing one of the hills, but Chrom stopped short and held Morgan back.

The boy turned to his father, but froze.

"...I have no choice, Mother." Lucina's hard voice wafted from over the hill, on the breeze. "I must kill you."

Morgan's insides turned to ice. He whipped around, intending to rush up the hill, but his father grabbed him again and covered his mouth.

"Shh, shh," Chrom whispered, but his voice was rough and stern. "Just listen for a minute. I won't let anything happen."

Robin said something, but Morgan couldn't hear. He struggled in vain against his father, then forced himself to stop, trying to listen.

"In my future, you..." Lucina was saying. "You kill Father."

Chrom tensed.

"That's insane, Lucina!" Robin protested. "Why would I kill Chrom?"

"I wasn't sure of it myself. I knew he had been killed by his closest friend. I doubted it could be so that it was you, but...today's events make it clear. You are at Validar's mercy. I suspect it's he who forces you to take Father's life, and very soon..."

Morgan tried to shake his head. Tears were forming in his eyes. "Why," he tried to say to his father, but he couldn't speak around Chrom's hand.

"I told you, Morgan, I won't let anything happen," Chrom hissed. "Even if something _does_."

"If Father is right, then we can change our fates," Lucina continued. "If this dark future is to be averted, sacrifices must be made." Her voice had been harsh, but suddenly it broke. "I - I am sorry, Mother! I know this is matricide, I...know..."

"Lucina," Robin said, "you don't have to -"

"Don't make it harder!" Lucina pleaded, nearly shouting. "It...will be swift and painless. I-if you hold any love for Father, then let this be done..."

There was a pause, and finally Robin said, warmly, "My life is yours. It always has been."

Morgan let out a muffled cry, but he could still hear Lucina's choking sob.

"D-don't say that, Mother! Please don't! That only...makes it harder..."

He could _hear _the smile in his mother's voice. "I would give my life for Chrom. And for you, and for Morgan."

"Mother, please...," Lucina begged.

"I know you'll be quick about it," Robin said. "I love you, Lucina. I'm ready, so do what you must."

"I-I..."

"Damn it," Chrom hissed, letting go of Morgan. At once they both rushed up the rise, hurrying to get over the top.

"Damn me!" Lucina screamed in frustration, and Morgan finally saw his sister. The princess had fallen to her knees, and Falchion had dropped to the ground. Her tears reflected the setting sun. Her face was twisted in anguish. "I can't do it! I love you too much, Mother!"

Robin's expression seemed to be etched in sadness.

"I'm so sorry, Mother!" Lucina cried, bawling. "I'm so sorry! P-please forgive me!"

"My poor girl, there's nothing to forgive," Robin murmured, moving to sit next to her daughter.

"Mother!" Morgan launched himself toward the two women, collapsing to the ground beside them. He threw his arms around Robin and buried his face in her shoulder. She immediately returned the embrace and allowed her son to cry.

"M-Morgan?" Lucina stuttered, taken aback. Her voice was thick with tears. Morgan didn't move. He only tightened his grip around their mother.

"Are you done, Lucina?" Chrom asked sternly, coming up to them.

"F-Father!" Lucina looked up at the man and her eyes were red. "I-I can explain!"

"No need," Chrom said. "We heard every word."

"Then - then why didn't you t-try to stop me?"

"Because I knew you wouldn't do it."

Slowly, Morgan pulled away from his mother so he could turn his head and look at his father and sister. Chrom knelt and put his hand on Lucina's head.

"I know your heart is in the right place," he said slowly, like he was trying to keep a scolding tone out of his voice. "But I trust your mother. You cannot shake my faith in her. We've held fast through good times and ill. We swore to be two halves of a greater whole. You underestimate the strength of those ties, the bonds we share. I believe in them more than some foretold 'destiny.'"

Tears steadily dripped from Lucina's eyes. "That...is easier to say when you haven't seen it yourself."

Morgan hesitated. "Sister...?"

Lucina flinched and turned to her brother. "Y-yes?"

The young tactician sniffed, but forced his voice to be as strong as he could manage. "Aren't our ties stronger here now than they were in the future? I-I know I don't remember it all, but..."

"Morgan's right," Chrom agreed. "You said so yourself, Lucina. In this flow of time we are bound tighter than ever, you and I, and your mother and brother. I see all of you as not just my family, but my friends. We can change things. We already have, and we will again."

The princess was silent for a moment. Then she wiped away some of the wetness on her cheeks. "...All right, Father." She turned to Robin, looking scared, like a small child expecting punishment. "Mother, please, I hope someday y-you find it in your heart to forgive me..."

"Oh, Lucina," Robin murmured, reaching out and cupping Lucina's cheek. "There's nothing for me to forgive you for. Like I said, I would die for any of you."

More tears leaked from Lucina's eyes. "I pray... That is, I trust you all will prove me wrong. That the future will crack and fall apart before our family bond ever does."

Morgan finally pulled completely away from his mother. He gently grabbed Lucina's shoulders and pulled her into an embrace. She gasped, and her voice wavered.

"M-Morgan...?"

"I-it's okay, Luci," he said, no longer able to speak in anything above a whisper. "Everything will be all right this time around."

"But don't you - ?" Lucina started to sob again. "Don't you hate me? For t-trying to...?"

"I'm sad, and I'm hurt," Morgan admitted. He took a breath, and it felt like he was being crushed. "But I understand...and I forgive you. I could never hate you."

"M-Morgan..." Lucina returned the embrace and held onto her brother like he was her last link to life.

()()()

Morgan sits beside the campfire. He wants nothing more than to inhale his stew and retreat to his tent, but the meal is too hot. He resorts to blowing on his spoonfuls and hoping that the others will ignore him just as he is ignoring them.

But of course, that isn't the case.

"Hey, Masky," Vaike says, leaning forward where he sits on the other side of the fire.

Morgan looks up. "Yes?"

"Sully here's gotta be lyin' to ol' Teach," the axeman says. "You're not from the future."

"Jeez, Vaike, Chrom told you this too," Sully grumbles. "This's getting old."

What she says makes it seem like she doesn't think much of it all, but still, her eyes turn to Morgan. In fact, most if not all of the Shepherds eating dinner have turned their attention to him.

Morgan shifts. "Well, Vaike? Do you doubt Chrom and Sully?"

"It's not that I _doubt _them! I doubt this wacko story!" Vaike shakes his spoon at Morgan. "Ol' Teach needs _proof_."

"Vaike," Chrom says a bit tiredly, but at the same time he's smiling at the antics of his old friend. "I have his Falchion right here."

Vaike shrugged. "Could be a fake! He's a mage too, ya know! You never know!"

"...So, what?" Stahl asks. "You want him to tell us our fortunes?"

Morgan's stomach twists and he isn't sure whether he wants to eat anymore. Still, he forces more stew into his mouth to avoid speaking.

"Fortunes?" Sumia lights up like stars. Virion does, too.

"We can't prove if fortunes are real, though," Vaike argues.

"Yet Falchion is real," Robin points out, but that just sets Vaike back on his "fake" tangent. Some of the Shepherds are laughing; all seem to be enjoying the banter, but Morgan keeps quiet. When he finally forces down the last of Stahl's stew, he looks up.

A fact pops into Morgan's head, and at once his nervousness abates in favor of an old, half-familiar playfulness. "You want information, then," he says, and Vaike turns to him. "Not something you do in the future, but something you know now. Something only you know."

"Yeah, yeah!" The blond man pounds his fists against his knees in excitement. "That's perfect!"

"You sure?"

Vaike nods enthusiastically. "Prove yourself to ol' Teach!"

Morgan tries to suppress his grin. "On trips, you usually try to spy on the women when they're bathing."

Vaike drops his spoon, and suddenly finds himself surrounded by not only the majority of the female Shepherds, but also by Chrom and Frederick. Morgan can't help the chuckles that escape his mouth as Vaike gets bombarded. As casually as he can, Morgan stands and puts his bowl and spoon in the cleaning bucket and leaves. From his tent he can still hear the arguments going on, but the volume is diminishing. He let's out another laugh as he descends to his bedroll.

()()()

The next day brings another long march, but this time no Risen whatsoever cross their path. Chrom congratulates everyone on how well they're making time - in two days, three at most, they'll be at the border. Morgan wishes they all had horses.

After the Vaike incident, the Shepherds are starting to warm up toward Morgan - except Vaike, that is, especially since he's been exempted from training for a few days as punishment. In any case, Morgan appreciates the attempts at conversation from the Shepherds, but at the same time he's too nervous to speak on a large amount of topics for fear of bringing something up that hasn't happened yet. So, he mostly stays quiet unless spoken to.

That afternoon, Morgan's in the middle of setting up his tent when the sound of footsteps distracts him. He looks up to see his father standing above him.

"Did you forget about our spar?" Chrom asks. He's holding out the second-world Falchion. "We only have so much time left before nightfall."

Morgan blinks in astonishment, realizing that he did, in fact, forget somehow. He stands and accepts Falchion, then follows his father to the edge of camp. Kellam, Sully, and Sumia are already training; Kellam's stripped himself of his armor to practice throwing javelins toward the woods, and he looks like a completely different person. Sully is giving Sumia pointers on fighting with lances, but both women keep glancing toward Kellam like they're unsure about who he is.

Chrom leads Morgan toward an unused area and draws his Falchion to hold it in a two-handed grip. Morgan follows suit, feeling an excited tension well up inside him. He thinks he sees the smallest of smiles on his father's face, but then suddenly Chrom is attacking.

Chrom moves to strike downward, and Morgan darts forward. He ducks and moves to hit from behind, but the prince has already executed a forward roll to get away. Morgan pursues, but Chrom turns back toward him and blocks the attack, easily knocking the second-world Falchion aside; Morgan barely holds on to it. Chrom presses forward, forcing Morgan to act defensively. His hands feel numb from the force of his father's attacks. If Chrom is one thing, he's powerful.

"Is this all you've got?" Chrom taunts, and though he's sweating and panting already there's a grin on his lips.

Morgan grits his teeth. When Chrom tries to land another blow, he deflects it with all his might. Chrom falls toward one side and Morgan brings Falchion up toward his father's neck, but the prince uses his momentum to duck into another roll. Morgan turns to follow, slicing at Chrom's leg, but already Chrom is back on his feet and out of range. Morgan hisses a curse and darts into put his father on the defensive this time.

The mock battle wages on for several more minutes. Neither is able to take advantage of the other for long enough to execute a finishing move. Morgan has the upper hand in actual combat experience, but Chrom is the true swordsman, not to mention he's superior in both strength and weight.

Finally, the two step back. Morgan's throat feels painfully dry and he can't quite sense his fingers. His chest is heaving for breath, but so is his father's.

Chrom lowers his sword a little. "How about a draw for now?"

The offer surprises Morgan. "A draw?" When Chrom nods, he considers it, then sheaths Falchion.

"I'll take a draw," he says, finding himself laughing. "I've never won against you anyway, F -"

He stops.

Chrom's eyebrows knit together, and Morgan thinks his heart jumps into his throat. He looks away.

"F-for we've sparred like this in the second world," Morgan says, cursing himself, but before either of them can continue, Frederick comes rushing onto the scene.

"Milord!" He hurries over to Chrom. "This was most unwise!"

Morgan sighs and holds out his sheathed Falchion. Honestly, he's surprised Frederick didn't find them sooner. "Better take this from me before I decide to assassinate Chrom right in front of you, huh?"

Frederick scowls and snatches the weapon away. Morgan adjusts his hood and turns from them, back toward camp.

His eyes catch the sight of his mother watching from afar.

* * *

><p><em>I've never really liked Vaike that much. He's okay and fun to laugh at, but yeah. In other news, I'm preoccupying myself with Sacred Stones. It's really fantastic so far!<em>


	8. Chapter 8

viii.

"Father?"

Chrom looked up from the multitude of papers on his desk to see Morgan at the doorway. The Exalt of Ylisse's eyes had slight bags underneath them, and his hair was a bit disheveled.

"What is it, Morgan?" he asked, glancing back toward his reports.

"O-oh, if you're busy...," Morgan muttered, backing out of the room.

"No, no, I'm never too busy for you," Chrom said, turning his full attention toward his son. "What is it?"

Morgan could feel his cheeks heating up. He stood in the doorway and played with his hands. Finally he blurted: "How do you talk to girls?"

Chrom's brow furrowed, his tired eyes not lighting up with realization. "Like you talk to everyone else in the camp...?"

"N-no, I mean...," Morgan searched for words. "...How do you _talk _to _girls_?"

The prince blinked. "_Oh_." He paused, really considering the situation. "I don't know if I'm the person you should be asking - but for that matter, _don't _go to Inigo."

Morgan pouted. "But you got Mother to marry you."

Chrom laughed a little. "Trust me, that didn't happen because of any eloquence on my part. I'm surprised she even said yes to me."

"But she did, so you must have done _something _right, right?" Morgan held onto the doorframe and leaned further into the room, forgetting for a moment about why he'd come in the first place. "How'd it all happen, anyway? I mean, if you ever told me, I forgot about it - tell me!"

His father coughed a little and his face flushed. "Maybe when you're older."

"But I'm older _now_!"

"Ha ha, nice try," Chrom said flatly. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. "So, what's brought all this on? You don't usually worry about - well, anything."

Morgan seemed to shrink a little bit. "W-well... Has Mother ever gotten mad at you?"

His father chuckled. "More times than I can count."

"So it's normal?"

"Of course. But you learn how to work through things, and how to avoid certain things that might make your mother _too _mad..." Chrom frowned slightly after a moment. "So what did you _do_, exactly?"

"Well... I told Severa her soup was kinda - "

His father sat up straight. "S-Severa?"

Morgan's cheeks heated up. "Y-yeah. Why?"

"It's just," Chrom said, searching for words. "I wouldn't have thought she was your...type."

He became even more red. "I'm not even, you know, _sure_, Father. I just wanted some advice."

"Well..." The man exhaled and frowned. "Be...yourself? Don't get her angry? If it's meant to be, it'll happen...?" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Morgan."

"No, no, it's okay," he said quickly. "You tried."

"Is there anything else you need?"

He thought for a moment, then grinned. "I'm older _now_."

"For the love of Naga - !"

()()()

Morgan sits beside the stream, watching the skies as Sumia leads her newfound pegasus through light drills. The Shepherds found the ornery creature on their march that day; only Sumia could calm it down and tend to its thankfully minute injuries. The pegasus is even more gorgeous than Morgan remembers, and a sudden lump forms in his throat when he thinks of Cynthia.

He busies himself with eating the apple in his hands. He tries to lose himself in the action and in the sight of the sunset reflecting in the water, but it's impossible. He's thinking about the future children now.

Finally, through sheer, angry will, Morgan forces himself to his feet and heads back to camp. The Shepherds are all either cleaning up from dinner or finishing training. Morgan ignores them all and heads toward Chrom's tent. It's larger than all the other sleeping tents - which Chrom doesn't really approve of - and serves as the base of operations on the small trips the Shepherds have gone on so far in their career.

Morgan knocks on one of the poles keeping the tent upright, and a moment later Frederick opens the flap. Inside are Robin and Chrom, both leaning over a map of the continent.

"Ah, hello," Chrom says, and Robin adds, "What brings you here?"

Morgan almost flinches; his mother seems friendly enough on the surface, but there's a guardedness in her eyes that Morgan's only seen rarely. If he wasn't so familiar with her mannerisms, he wouldn't be able to see it.

He does his best to ignore the sight and comes further into the tent. "We need to discuss how we are going to approach the khans, and what we are going to request."

"We have been," Frederick says, uptight as ever. He lets the tent flap fall closed and approaches the desk. "Regna Ferox is a nation of upfront people, to put it lightly."

"While it's risky, once we make an alliance we put all cards on the table," Robin explains. "So we'll need you, Mark, to answer questions they may have."

_Again_, he thinks tiredly. "Of course." He takes a breath and stands up straighter. "I...refrained from mentioning this to Exalt Emmeryn, but the wisest course of action for the near future is to request aid from Ferox's standing army, at the very least to remain in Ylisse territory for a time."

"The standing army?" Robin repeats at the same time Frederick questions, "Why would you withhold such knowledge from Her Grace?!"

Morgan holds back a grimace. "I was afraid the Exalt would not listen to my reason. Her..._style_ is to abhor all violence. I wished to appeal to you first," he finishes, looking to Chrom.

The prince frowns. "I understand where you're coming from, Mark. But are you saying we won't be able to hold back the Risen, or is it Plegia you're concerned with?"

"Plegia _is _prodding at the border already," Morgan points out. "And with Lucina's whereabouts unknown, it's vital we have support at the ready."

He has to force her name past his lips, and he notices the twitching of Robin's hands, which are covered by fingerless gloves.

"At the very least, the standing army would cause even Plegia to think twice about it's current actions," Morgan continues, but before he can add on, Chrom puts up a hand to silence him.

"I'll ask the khans to prepare a force," the prince says slowly. "But they can't enter Ylisse without Emmeryn's permission. I'll write to Emm." He gives Morgan a bit of a helpless smile. "I agree with you wholeheartedly, Mark, but I'm not the Exalt."

_Not yet_, Morgan thinks, but immediately hates himself for it. He nods.

"If we want a response by the time we reach the capital - or around then - we need to send Sumia back to Ylisstol with her new pegasus," Robin says.

"I don't want her going by herself," Chrom replies.

Morgan looks expectantly toward Frederick, waiting for the knight to volunteer to escort his wife, but instead the man says, "Milord, might I suggest Virion? His longer range attacks would compliment her in the air, and his equipment is light enough not to slow her mount."

"Excellent idea, Frederick," Chrom says, but Morgan barely hears because he's mentally reminding himself that Frederick and Sumia aren't married yet. Gods, _not one _of the Shepherds are married yet.

"By pegasus, it should only take them two days to reach Ylisstol at most," Robin says after consulting the map. "They'll have to go through the border guard to get into Ferox, but when we get there tomorrow we'll leave the Feroxi with instructions to let them in."

"They'll also have Emm's seal," Chrom adds.

Robin nods. "So it's settled."

Morgan clears his throat. All of a sudden he just can't be in the same space as his parents. "If this has been taken care of, then I'll take my leave for the night."

He remembers to bow slightly, then turns toward the tent flap. Someone begins to say something - he's sure it's Chrom - but he leaves.

()()()

Cynthia is grinning at him. "Wanna take a ride on my pegasus?"

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Cynthia pushes him playfully and suddenly he sits in a saddle, watching as the ground gets smaller and smaller. He panics and grabs tight to the girl in front of him; she turns her head around, glaring.

"You're such a wimp," Severa says. "Suck it up already."

_You're a pegasus knight? _he thinks, but all at once the sky becomes blacker and blacker and Morgan knows something isn't right.

Lightning splits the sky apart. The pegasus squeals, dropping from the air, and Morgan pulls himself and Severa from the saddle. He can't see how far away the ground is, so he keeps screeching wind spells at the top of his lungs.

The tumble onto the earth, crying out - Severa screaming like he's never heard from her. There's a blur and he sees Cynthia darting in, Owain beside her, weapons in hand. Morgan wants to join them in battle, to protect all he has left, but when he hears the mad laughter he becomes motionless.

The Mark of Grima shines in the darkness, and Flachion flashes -

_"Severa!"_

He lurches to a sitting position and wildly looks around, searching the space around him for his companions. It's dark. He's panting and can't hear anything besides the roaring heartbeat in his ears. He's sweating under mask, sweating all over his body -

There's a rustle, and the tent flap opens. Moonlight reflects off the woman's silver-white ponytail and the golden threads on her coat.

"What's wrong?" Robin asks, almost sharply, like she's half-expecting to find a Risen.

Relief floods Morgan's adrenaline-fueled veins and he exhales. "Mother - "

He stops, eyes widening behind his mask.

"What was that scream for?!" Suddenly Frederick is there at the entrance beside Robin. He must sleep in his armor, because all that's off about his appearance is his bedhead. He holds a short sword in his hand.

"Are we being attacked?" Now it's Chrom speaking, but he's not in view.

"No," Robin says, turning her head to the prince. "It was a nightmare."

Frederick furrows his brows. "Is that _all_?" he asks Morgan.

"I... I apologize," Morgan says, barely loud enough. His mind is reeling. "I... will try to keep it from happening again."

_Did I really call her 'Mother'? Did she hear me?_

There's a relieved chuckle from Chrom and he appears, putting a hand on Frederick's shoulder. "We all have bad dreams sometimes. Let's just get back to sleep."

Frederick remains frowning, but somehow the expression deepens. "Vaike is supposed to be on watch, yet he hasn't come running. I'll go check up on him." He walks away.

"He's probably sleeping," Chrom calls after him, but not loudly. He smiles and glances toward Morgan, and the boy can't help but feel like a small child. "I'll let you get some sleep, Mark. Rest well."

The prince retreats to his tent, and Robin moves to close the tent flap behind her. Morgan opens his mouth but says nothing. He doesn't know if Robin catches sight, but she pauses, then pokes back in.

"You said something to me, didn't you?" she asks quietly, but not softly. She's frowning, or at least he thinks she is; it's hard to see in the dim light.

"Ah," he says, trying to feign embarrassment in place of panic. "I'm afraid I was still confused from the dream. I apologize again."

"No worries," Robin says. Her voice becomes joking and playful on the surface, but it's laced with seriousness that Morgan wouldn't have been able to pick up if he wasn't her son. "So long as you remember I'm not _anyone's _mother."

Without another word, she leaves.

* * *

><p><em>Just a reminder that this Robin isn't the Robin we know at all, so...<em>

_I really should sit down and make a plan for this story. I really like this a lot..._


End file.
